


The Art of Petty Theft

by ali_aliska



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Because all Avengers have their trauma, Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Team as Family, That Bucky accidentally takes, Tony’s security blanket is a sweatshirt, aftermath of nightmare, boys falling in love, brief discussion of trauma, finding comfort in each other, recovering bucky, security blankets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: All Tony needs right now is a good night’s sleep, but with nightmares nipping at his heels, he can’t do it without his sweatshirt—Rhodey’ssweatshirt, technically, that had become Tony’s long ago, back in their MIT days. The sweatshirt had kept him warm, cozy, andsafethrough many bad nights, but now it’smissingand when Tony finds out which one of his teammates is a no-good clothes thief, oh, they were going to havewords.





	The Art of Petty Theft

**Author's Note:**

> Tried writing something new to get over my current writer’s block. Good news, it resulted in a new fic! Less good news, I still can’t seem to write a thing for the fics I should be working on. Ah well.
> 
> Post CA:TWS, pre-Ultron, set in some magical, happy AU where Steve told Tony about his parents _right away_ and the team came together to bring Bucky back and help him recover (ergo, none of my usual salt). 
> 
> This fills out my square 'K1 - Smell' for the Tony Stark Bingo.
> 
> (also sweatshirt = hoodie, in case that's not the colloquial term for some)

“Alright, which one of you ugly nerds stole my sweatshirt?”

Natasha didn’t even bother looking up from her tablet when Tony marched into the kitchen, which was _clearly_ a sign of guilt as far as Tony was concerned.

“Who exactly are you calling ugly, _Antosha_?” she demurred.

Clint, lounging in the chair next to her, one arm slung over the back of hers, scoffed in indignation. “And who are you calling a _nerd_?” He frowned at the table, then back at Tony. “Actually, I second that ugly part too. I’m the hottest one here.”

Steve just blinked at Tony, the piece of pizza still in his hand hovering half-way to his mouth, while Bucky only glanced up for a second before going back to staring at his cup of _whatever_ — tea probably, Tony still hadn’t manage to break him out of that Bruce-induced habit— as if the mug had personally offended his entire parental lineage.

Tony tapped his footimpatiently, glaring daggers at each one of them, although he had to admit that the super soldiers were the least likely culprits. Petty theft wasn’t part of their usual repertoire; to drive Tony crazy, Steve generally stuck to the imploring puppy dog eyes or that “I love you, but I’m disappointed” face or the whole “pretending he didn’t know how the internet worked” when Tony knew damn well that Steve _did_.

On the other hand, Bucky Barnes just had to _exist_ to drive Tony nuts. Bucky and his damn soulful, blue eyes, the long, silky hair, those rare but precious moments of dry wit and sarcasm, those thighs, that metal arm— _oh god, that arm_ — the inquisitive mind, the genuine _thank you’s_ , the unfailing conviction to right wrongs that others forced him to commit—

Yeah, that man drove Tony _nuts_.

Of course Tony himself was smart enough to know that his crush on the super soldier was entirely ill-advised, horribly mistimed, and complete, _utter_ wish fulfillment. Sure, they were getting along, they were _friends_ even, great friends, but Bucky… Despite the horrors of his past, he was _healing_ now, getting better, and _still_ managing to pull off that perfect mix of broody, sexy, and sweet, while Tony… Well, Tony was a piping hot mess flying around in a tin can, currently ranting at his teammates about a _sweatshirt_.

Like he said, ill-advised.

In Tony’s defense however, his current moment of unfortunate spiraling wasn’t _completely_ nonsensical since he was going on three days now without any damn _sleep_. 

An unhelpful part of him whispered that he’d sleep plenty well cuddled up next to a gorgeous, sweet-as-sin super soldier, but since this wasn’t _fantasy time_ , and Bucky wasn’t even _looking_ at him anymore, Tony had to go with Plan B, which meant he _needed_ his old MIT sweatshirt.

That was the reason he was up here, and since the super soldiers were likely out, for a variety of reasons, up to and including having a hard time _fitting_ into Tony’s sweatshirt, even if it was a few sizes too big on him, and since Bruce had been away all week, speaking at some conference on radiation effects and protection, it _had_ to be one of the spies. Natasha had all the makings of a clothes thief, and Clint… well, he was _Clint_ , so Tony was pretty confident in his overall conclusion.

Granted, he was _also_ half-way to hallucinating from lack of sleep at this point, so anything was possible.

“Yeah, keep dreaming that dream, Birdbrain,” Tony said, “we all know that I’m the prettiest belle at _this_ ball. And don’t think I didn’t notice you ignoring the _second_ part of my question. Suspicious is what that is, mm-hmm.”

Natasha just hummed right back, entirely unconcerned; Clint rolled his eyes and took a bite of his half-eaten slice of double cheese and pepperoni. Bucky continued to impersonate a statue and Steve just let out this small, little sigh, the one that usually preceded him having to be the resident ‘adult’.

Tony knew that sigh so well.

“What happened now, Tony?” Steve asked with the infinite patience of a single parent raising five unruly children. 

At some point Tony even _believed_ that tone of voice, but the joke was on him because apparently Steve “I’ve never seen a fight I didn’t want to pick” Rogers had the capacity to be the biggest problem child of them all. He just hid it too well, at least right until SHIELD’s unfortunate (and permanent) retirement.

Because that was when a bedraggled Winter Soldier, less killing machine and more a mopey, sad super soldier in need of a shower and a home, ended up on their doorstep, and even though it was one of the happiest moments of Steve’s life, bringing Bucky Barnes into the fold also spelled disaster for Steve’s straight-laced, goody-goody reputation. With him, Bucky also brought _stories_ , slowly put together from a patchwork of broken memories, stories that outed Steve for the troublemaker that he was, and Tony _loved_ story-time with a glee reserved for little else.

He realized his mind was running away again, taking off on yet another tangent, and Tony groaned internally. He needed _sleep_. 

The tap of his foot grew more erratic. “My sweatshirt, it’s missing.”

“Which one?”

“The MIT one.”

Clint’s head tilted a fraction. “Umm… You mean the one you’re _wearing_?”

Tony looked down, an automatic gesture really, but he had to concede that there was an infinitesimal chance he may have screwed this all up. But nope, _not_ the sweatshirt he was looking for.

“Yes, I might be sleep deprived, and yes, I realize this _is_ an MIT sweatshirt— no, don’t give me that look, Legolas, this is _my_ MIT sweatshirt,” Tony said and _speaking of sleep-deprived_ , he made a beeline for the coffee machine, talking as he walked. “ _Rhodey’s_ MIT sweatshirt, however, the one I actually wear all the time, is missing and I _know_ one of you hooligans took it. And after I let you live here, eat all my _food_ —”

“Tony, are you sure you didn’t just misplace it?” Steve tried to be reasonable.

“Yeah, or maybe it got mixed up in the laundry somewhere?” Clint added, words muffled by another mouthful of pizza.

Tony didn’t answer right away, too busy punching in the desired combination on the coffee maker. He was about to ingest an _inadvisable_ amount of caffeine and sugar, but he didn’t have a _choice_ in the matter.

Maybe it was childish, maybe outright stupid and so pathetically weak that Howard was probably spinning in his grave, but that sweatshirt kept the suffocating water and the cold, oppressive cave walls at bay. 

Tony’s nightmares were nothing new, but they were usually manageable. However, their last mission involved Tony taking a deep dive to disable an old Hydra device buried at the bottom of one of the Great Lakes, and despite the suit being waterproof, it couldn’t stop the water from clinging to Tony anyways, in all ways but the physical. It had been _haunting_ him for days now.

So at the moment, sleep meant reliving those horrors all over again, and Tony just couldn’t do it without his sweatshirt, he _couldn’t_. That ratty old thing kept him grounded, _safe_ , the same way it did many, many years ago when that water and those cave walls were a far more recent memory.

“I checked everywhere. And yes, even with the laundry service,” Tony added before Clint had the chance to ask again. “Every place I could think of, I checked. Which leaves me with my only option. _You_ people,” Tony jabbed an accusing finger in their direction, but his initial indignation had already lost some of its fervor. No one looked particularly suspicious, no one was mean enough to ignore what was obvious distress at this point just for a prank, and plus, Tony was just too damn _tired_ to be angry anymore.

While the coffee machine huffed and puffed, Tony walked back over to stand by the others.

“We didn’t take your sweatshirt, Tony, we swear,” Clint looked up at him, then grinned, “if I’m gonna steal, it’s gonna be something shiny and expensive, not your raggedy old college hoodie.”

Tony shoved at his head playfully. “So I _am_ living in a house full of sticky-fingered spies. I knew it.”

Bucky glanced up at him at the words, but those eyes darted back down again and Tony was flooded with guilt all of the sudden. Shit, what if today was one of Bucky’s bad days? Usually, those were spent in Bucky’s own quarters, sometimes on the shooting range, but maybe Bucky needed the company today, just not _Tony’s_ obnoxious and loud company. _Dammit._

Tony took a breath, mostly to gather up some courage, then placed a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey, there, Terminator, everything alright?” He squeezed the firm muscle and tried to keep his tone friendly and casual.

Bucky tried to give Tony a smile this time, but it landed somewhere in the range of an awkward grimace. Still, Tony would take what he could get.

“M’alright, yeah,” Bucky nodded too, but the vice grip on his mug said otherwise. Tony was frankly surprised the mug was still in one piece. “You, uh— you lost your sweatshirt?”

Tony rubbed his hand over Bucky’s shoulder soothingly. “Yup, and since you’re my favorite soon-to-be-Avenger, you’d totally tell me if it was one of the spies who stole it, right?”

Tony was going for playful with the comment, but Bucky just went stiff under his hand and Tony cursed himself all over again.

He let his hand drop, certain he just imagined the disappointment he saw when Bucky looked his way again and whispered a flat, “‘Course I would.”

Tony looked around at the others, then sighed, shoulders slumping. He suddenly felt every one of his forty-odd years. “I’m serious, did any of you see it?”

Clint scrunched up nose. “Tony, come on, it’s just a sweatshirt. Aren’t you, like, a millionaire?”

Tony glared at the man, but even that had lost most of its heat. “ _Billionaire_ , asshole, and I, uh— I need this specific one, actually. I swear, if any of you took it—”

“Tony, we didn’t,” Natasha said and she actually met Tony’s eyes this time. There was something soft in her expression, _understanding_ , and Tony had to fight the urge to run away. “The Tower is a big place, it probably got lost somewhere, but we’ll all check around just to make sure.” She glanced around the table. “Won’t we?”

There was an expected chorus of affirmatives. Tony nodded too, hating how lethargic the movement felt. As if on cue, the coffee maker announced that Tony’s heart-attack-inducing concoction was ready, so he meandered over, grabbed the mug, and took a good, hearty swallow, letting the too-hot coffee burn its way down his throat.

When he resurfaced, everyone at the table was watching him, including his super soldier crush. Tony clung to his cup, still not used to the scrutiny, the _sympathy_ , this whole familial structure they all fell into. These people weren’t his Rhodey or Pepper or Happy… but they were _his people_ too now, even if sometimes Tony had to get used to that realization over and over again.

He took another sip, smaller this time, then narrowed his tired eyes over the rim of the mug. “Alright, I will trust you all— just this one time— but if I find out it was _stolen_ , the thief is dead to me. I am writing them out of my will, canceling all invitations to my awesome parties, no more green smoothies during workouts, the whole nine yards. D.E.A.D. _Dead._ ”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smile as she shook her head, red curls bouncing with the movement. “Note to self, do not steal Tony Stark’s clothes.”

“Damn straight.”

Steve was still pretending to be a responsible adult even when it was obvious he was also trying not to crack a smile. “I promise we’ll look for it, okay?” The soldier’s gaze softened then. “Get some sleep, Tony. If you can? You look dead on your feet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled and waved him off, having no energy to explain that he _couldn’t_ sleep, that was the whole point of him coming up for this disaster of an interrogation in the first place.

He was about to give up and take off for the workshop again, but his sleep-deprived, addled brain had other ideas and apparently made _terrible_ decisions when in a fifty-foot radius of a sad-looking Bucky Barnes.

“So, uh, Snowflake,” he tried for that unaffected, casual tone again, “if you’re feeling up to it, I wouldn’t mind a visit. To the workshop, I mean. You haven’t been down in a while.” There, that didn’t sound too needy.

Bucky blinked up at him, looking genuinely surprised. “Um…” His brows grew closer together. “My arm is functional, I don’t need maintenance yet.”

Tony’s heart fell a little. “Oh, no, I mean, just… just to hang out.” Yeah, that _did_ sound desperate. Damn it. He took a gulp of coffee to give himself a second. “Jay is being more sassy than usual and if I’m gonna be sassed at, might as well be by someone _actually_ funny. So, uh… if you want. You can keep working on that old Chevy, or um…”

God, Tony wished he could summon alien portals on command, but the desire to sink through the floor eased when Bucky’s lips twitched up, then formed an actual smile. Tony loved seeing these smiles, even when they were hesitant and small like the one he was given right now.

“Yeah, that’d… that’d be great. I will. Come visit, I mean.”

“Yeah?” The way Bucky’s eyes softened sometimes, free of the old ghosts haunting him, made Tony’s stomach do somersaults too. “Okay, yeah, that’s, uh… great. I’ve missed— I mean— the _bots_ missed having you around.”

Oh god, he needed to stop before he embarrassed himself any further. Tony lifted his mug in a salute, aimed at everyone even if his eyes couldn’t quite pull away from Bucky, then he swiped one of the pizza slices from Clint’s plate and scurried back to his workshop, already thinking of a project that could keep him occupied and awake for the next foreseeable _ever_.

***

“Aw, pizza, no,” Clint stared forlornly in the direction of Tony’s exit and Steve dutifully took another slice out of the box and placed it on Clint’s plate.

“There’s plenty more, eat up,” Steve added, but he couldn’t help but look over at the entrance to the kitchen too. “That was odd though… wasn’t it? I know Tony loves giving everyone a hard time, playing around, which is _fine_ ,” he added in a hurry because everyone here was sometimes quite overprotective of the genius, _including_ himself, “but he seemed really upset over this sweatshirt. Am I missing something?”

Clint was too busy stuffing the pizza into his face— Steve ignored the desire to mention table manners because Bucky would just roll his eyes and tell another embarrassing story about _Steve’s_ lack of manners— so it was Natasha who met his gaze. She placed her tablet down carefully, then with her elbows on the edge of the table, she propped her chin on her hands and her gaze grew distant, drifting somewhere just above Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s not just a sweatshirt, you know? It’s never _just something_ , with any of us,” she said, with the weight of the world in those words, and Steve’s breath went still in his chest because it was rare to hear Natasha sound so _open_.

She continued after a beat, murmuring a soft, “Sometimes there are days where the sound of Russian makes my skin crawl and I _have_ to reach for the closest thing with sugar - chocolate, ice cream, it doesn’t matter. Not because it tastes good, but because I wasn’t _allowed_ to have it, _before_. There are days where _you,_ ” she tilted her head at Steve, “can’t even drink a glass of _water_ if there is ice in it. Those days are usually followed by nights where half of the punching bags down at the gym end up in a heap on the floor.”

“I, uh… Sometimes,” Clint added and it was almost jarring to hear his voice drop so low too, into something so somber, “I see a flash of green and gold, some storefront selling an outfit, a kid’s backpack, _whatever_ , and all of the sudden, I _need_ to find a mirror, doesn’t matter what else I’m doing. I need to see that my eyes aren’t blue again. Then I check them, and check and check, until I can breathe again.”

Steve glanced at Bucky and didn’t need the man to chime in to know that his friend had a similar story too. There were still days where Bucky’s eyes would glaze over, go frighteningly cold, and Steve would find him sitting in the dark of his room alone, disassembling and reassembling his guns, over and over and over, sometimes for hours.

They were all plagued with nightmares and a part of Steve longed to ease that burden, lessen the pain for each and every one of these people he had come to love, people that made his _own_ pain and devastation over losing his whole world in one fell swoop easier to bear.

“So it’s a coping mechanism? Like a security blanket?” Steve asked quietly; Natasha nodded and Steve’s whole body grew cold when he finally realized _why_ Tony would need something like that today. “That last mission? That’s what did it?”

Natasha shrugged, but her expression was answer enough. “That’s my assumption. You know he doesn’t do well with water after Afghanistan.”

Bucky made a strangled noise next to him and Steve threw an apologetic glance his way. All this talk of trauma probably wasn’t helping, especially not with the way Bucky’s genial mood seemed to have evaporated as soon as Tony made his dramatic entrance earlier.

“God, I feel awful. I should’ve come up with something else, some other way to disable that damn thing without—”

“Steve,” Natasha cut him off, “Tony knew what he was doing. He would’ve sent JARVIS with a spare suit, but with the signals all scrambled by that device, Tony was on his own and the only one able to deal with the water pressure.”

“I should’ve still realized it affected him.”

“He hides it just as well as any of us,” Clint added. His next bite of pizza was all mechanical chewing. “Hard to tell with him, you know? Is he in the lab for two days because he’s giddy with some new genius idea that took over his brain or is it because he’s feeling guilty over something and refuses to come up?” He shrugged. “We’re all just as bad though, so at least he’s in good company.”

Steve nodded reluctantly, then his eyes followed Bucky as the man stood up stiffly. “You alright, Buck?”

“Yeah,” the other man nodded, fooling no one. “Just need to go lie down.” He made a vague gesture at his head and Steve didn’t press for more.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” he added instead, then watched Bucky take hurried steps out of the kitchen, disappearing the same way Tony did.

Steve sighed again, then decided, _to hell with it_ , and reached for another slice of pizza. Comfort food couldn’t hurt. One more slice and then he’d go look around the Tower for that sweatshirt. Tony had a habit of leaving things all around the common spaces, so chances were the hoodie was just bundled up under one of the pillows in the theater room somewhere.

“Well, since Tasha here had to be a Debby Downer,” Clint said after a half a minute of silent chewing, “I’m gonna have to be the one to lift us all back up and ask the _real_ question on everyone’s mind - when are those two going to do something about their frankly _ridiculous_ crushes on each other?”

Natasha snorted next to him and Steve groaned, even if a part of him was thankful for the change of subject.

Clint, unsurprisingly, remained undeterred. “No, I’m serious, if I have to watch them stutter and stumble and _blush_ around each other like damn teenagers, I’m gonna mutiny. There’s only so much a man can handle.”

Steve silenced another exasperated groan threatening to escape with more peppers and sausage, then chewed methodically and swallowed before speaking. “It has to end sometime, doesn’t it? They’re two of the smartest people I know, and their feelings for each other are _plain as day_ , so— so they can’t keep doing this _forever_ , right? Because, I mean, I love them both dearly, would die for them in a heartbeat, but I might have to _kill_ them if they keep doing this.”

Natasha’s eyes gleamed with amusement now, a welcome change from that earlier burdened gaze. “Aw, you don’t like how they keeping making googly eyes at each other, Steve? Or the way they check each other out when the other isn’t looking?”

Steve sent her a warning glare, but of course it did nothing. His own lips twitched, an effort not to laugh, and he knew she could see it.

“There’s always the way Barnes goes all tongue-tied and flushed when Tony’s wearing a three-piece suit,” Clint had to add.

“Actually, he gets tongue-tied whenever Tony’s wearing that damn oversized sweatshirt that’s currently missing too. But honestly, the best sight is _Tony_ whenever Bucky flexes his arms. I kid you not, I saw Tony run into a wall once.” Natasha was grinning now.

Steve kept fighting his own smile. “Are you done?”

“Yes, but _they’re_ not, since they’re two of the most oblivious and self-deprecating people I know. Pepper told me that it took Tony _months_ to even ask her out, so I’d give them…” she hummed and bobbed her head side to side, “eh, another half a year at least.”

“Half a year?” Steve and Clint both repeated, their words blending together into a single exclamation of distress.

“Mm-hmm. Half a year of pining, puppy dog eyes, wistful sighs, and all those late-night whining sessions with us.”

Steve all but inhaled the rest of his pizza, then wiped his hands on a napkin before standing up. “Half a yeah, my god. Yeah, I’m gonna just… go look for that sweatshirt. Maybe I can use it to _smother_ one of them, put us all out of our misery.”

Clint’s choked laugher and Natasha’s amused huff followed him out of the kitchen.

***

Bucky carefully closed the door behind him and slowly made his way over to the bed. The sweatshirt was right where he left it, laying innocuously on top of the comforter, and the sight of it had guilt clawing its way up his throat.

Another step and he was close enough to sit down, his hand reaching for the sweatshirt and automatically bringing it up to his face, inhaling the familiar scent that it carried.

He really didn’t mean to take the sweatshirt— _steal_ the sweatshirt, as it were.

A few nights ago, his nightmares went from their usual bad to downright _awful_ , filled with screaming and pain and blood— _so much blood_ — and all of it felt so real that even after waking up, Bucky couldn’t shake that bone-chilling fear, couldn’t convince his terrified mind that he was _safe_ now, that those memories were no longer real. His whole body trembled, his heart rate refused to drop down from its fevered pace, and all he wanted, panting and shaking as he stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but _blood_ , was to rage and tear apart everything around him until the voices in his head stopped screaming at him.

Instead, he found himself stumbling out into the common room, some instinct telling him to find Steve or Tony, because they would know what to do, but the room was empty and when his legs nearly gave out from under him, he just let himself collapse onto the couch, still shaking, his head still filled with the hell spilling out between the cracks of all of his broken pieces.

He groped in the dark for the nearest thing, maybe a pillow or a blanket, to touch, to feel, to _tear apart_ if he had to, and his fingers closed around something, a sweater he realized as he pulled it out from where it was stuffed between the cushions. As soon as it was in his hands, he knew instantly who it belonged to, and guided by sheer instinct, Bucky curled around it and pressed his face into the soft material with a quiet whimper.

It smelled like the spicy-sweet notes of cologne, mixed with the unmistakable smell of coffee.

It smelled like _Tony_.

Bucky breathed in the scent, so familiar to him by now, after spending hours and days and _months_ around Tony, down in the lab for arm maintenance, during quiet breakfasts and raucousdinners, up here during movie nights on the lucky days where Tony chose the empty spot next to _Bucky_ to curl up for his inevitable nap.

Bucky’s breaths were erratic at first, lungs struggling to pull in air, but the warmth of the sweatshirt, the smell, the memories of Tony, that pretty smile, the steady hand on his shoulder, the confident voice— _easy, Bucky, you’re okay, I got you_ — all of it helped ground him back in reality, push away the memories, the voices and hands of the scientists and the handlers that wanted to tear him apart and build him back up into a monster.

That night, Bucky clung to that sweatshirt like a lifeline; it soothed him like nothing else did, except maybe Tony’s actual presence. Without thinking about it, Bucky _continued_ to cling to that sweatshirt with a possessiveness that bordered on desperation when he wandered back to his room and settled back into his bed. Laying there, mind and body finally able to _rest_ , it didn’t even cross his mind that the action was inappropriate somehow, hell, downright _creepy_ if one thought about it too hard, especially with his stupid crush on Tony. In the dark of his room, all he could think about was how safe he felt curled around that soft, oversized thing; sure, it was probably a poor substitute for what he really wanted— to be curled around _Tony_ — but the soft material and the soothing scent, it reminded him all the same that his new-found family was _right here_. He was free, yes, but more importantly, he was no longer alone.

The next two nights were even better as his mind finally got over whatever triggered the hellish nightmares in the first place. In the bright light of day, Bucky did contemplate putting the sweatshirt back, but he just couldn’t bring himself to part with it. Another bad night like that _terrified_ him, so his selfishness— _survival instinct_ — won over. Tony probably had a million of these sweatshirts anyways, Bucky convinced himself, so the man wouldn’t even blink an eye if one went missing.

Turned out that not only was Bucky _wrong_ , but he was also just a shitty human being in general who had caused one of the best people in his life genuine _distress_.

This was exactly why he couldn’t ever act on his feelings for Tony. Even if he was getting better at being _Bucky_ instead of the Winter Soldier, it still didn’t mean he was any _good,_ not for someone like Tony who deserved every good thing the world had to offer.

Good things like this old MIT sweatshirt that Bucky had so carelessly appropriated for himself.

With a weary sigh, he got off the bed, sweatshirt still in hand, pressed against his chest and left his room behind.

***

JARVIS allowed him entry into the workshop when Bucky asked for permission and he made his way through the organized chaos, wincing a little at the eardrum-shattering music playing through the speakers overhead. He found Tony in the middle of all the chaos, stripped down to his shirt and jeans, situated cross-legged on the floor, a wrench in his mouth, hair a disheveled mess, surrounded by half a dozen pieces of the Iron Man armor, an empty mug, and a container of what looked liked chocolate-covered coffee beans.

Tony didn’t notice him standing there at first, but something must’ve registered in his peripheral because he looked up at Bucky after a few moments, blinking owlishly, the wrench still in his mouth. Bucky’s heart near damn _stopped_ because Tony had the preternatural ability to look downright _adorable_ , despite being a fully grown man in his forties.

Tony waved a frantic hand at the speakers, which JARVIS interpreted correctly and the lab went silent, with Bucky’s ears still ringing for another few seconds. The wrench landed in Tony’s hand as he scrambled up to his feet.

“Snowflake, hey, didn’t expect you so soon, what did you—” he stopped mid-word, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, you found it?” His hands went right for the sweatshirt, fingers curling into the material and Bucky reluctantly let it go. “You are a miracle worker. I can’t believe it. Where did you find it?”

Tony looked up, eyes so earnest, and Bucky kinda wished he could just _lie_ , make something up and bask in the praise, be Tony’s hero, enjoy the way Tony’s eyes sparkled, the way his lips formed that thankful smile, but he _couldn’t_. He owed Tony so much, for the forgiveness, for the help, the affection, for giving him a  _home_ —

“I, uh, I didn’t find it, actually,” he forced himself to say. Tony’s initial moment of rapture morphed into curiosity.

“So one of the spies _did_ take it then? Please tell me it was Clint. I’ve wanted an excuse to build him a prank arrow for months now.”

“No, not, uh, not Clint.” Bucky swallowed hard and fixed his gaze on the disembodied Iron Man foot, its bright red color stark against the grey of the workshop floor. “I took it, actually.”

Tony’s expression shifted, but Bucky couldn’t tell to _what_ , not when Tony was in his periphery. “You… took it?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, hoping it sounded sincere because he was _so damn sorry_. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Tony somehow, to take away something that brought the man comfort and helped him cope with the nightmares…

Bucky’s stomach twisted painfully again; he hated himself _and_ everyone else who had a hand in creating Tony’s nightmares in the first place. “I didn’t mean to, it was just… I didn’t know you needed it, I just thought… thought you wouldn’t notice.”

Bucky chanced a glance at Tony and instantly regretted it because Tony’s eyes were narrowed and while it may not have been outright anger, that sure as hell looked like suspicion.

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

Bucky cringed without meaning to, which Tony obviously caught. The thin line of his lips softened, some of the tension bleeding away. 

“Hey, no, don’t do that, Snowflake, I’m not mad or anything, just… confused as to why, uh— why you nicked my sweatshirt. You don’t seem like the type to pull pranks, at least not in your currently broody state.”

Bucky was already shaking his head. “No, definitely wasn’t a prank.”

“Then what?”

There was that earnest curiously again, but how could Bucky explain any of this?

 _I took your sweatshirt, Tony, so I could sleep with it in my arms during a bad night, even though I’d much rather have_ you _because on my good nights, you’re all that I dream about._

Oh god, where was a damn cryo chamber when you needed it?

Still, Bucky couldn’t lie. “I had a bad nightmare the other night,” he began, something easing inside when Tony began to look even more worried, same as he always did whenever Bucky struggled with his past, “and I went out into the common room. Dunno what I was looking for. Stevie, maybe, I dunno, but I ended up on the couch. Needed something to touch, to— to ground me, and…” he trailed off, but Tony caught on pretty quickly.

“I _did_ leave it in the common room, didn’t I?” He looked down at the sweatshirt. “Well, at least I’m not going senile yet, that’s something good.” A glance back up at Bucky. “So, did it help somehow or…?”

The question didn’t hold any judgment, at least not to Bucky’s ear, but there were still notes of confusion there. Bucky just nodded. “It, uh… it did, yeah. It was soft and warm and…” He closed his eyes and prayed for an early death. “And it smelled like you.”

***

Tony blinked at the confession, his brain struggling to understand, even though it _rarely_ ‘struggled’, but the genuine distress on Bucky’s face quickly overrode most of Tony’s confusion.

“Buckaroo, hey, you gotta breathe, you’re going pale on me.” The super soldier took an obedient breath and his eyes fluttered open, distracting Tony just for a moment with their striking pale blue and those long lashes. Tony nodded though, gratified; he still clung to the sweatshirt, but it was mostly forgotten in favor of the super soldier in front of him. “There you go, deep breaths.”

“I’m really sorry,” Bucky said, again, because Bucky _always_ apologized to Tony.

Since the beginning, Tony knew he’d forgive this man, even before he actually met the infamous Bucky Barnes. Steve told Tony about the Winter Soldier and the Starks, about that accident, about _everything_ , as soon as he could, while still confined to his hospital bed, in fact, after his fight and the unfortunate swim in the Potomac. That confession made all the difference in the world and Tony suspected it changed the course of their collective lives.

The confession gave Tony time to _grieve_ , to rage and to cry in the privacy and safety of his home. Learning the truth about this parents turned him young and heartbroken all over again, having to reevaluate everything while an old wound in his heart was wide open and bleeding. He found the surveillance footage buried in the data dump he helped contain, in on the plan from the start, aware that Fury and Natasha would use the data as leverage.

Tony watched, over and over, as the Winter Soldier murdered his parents, and at first, there was nothing but grief and unadulterated rage inside him. Nothing but hurt, _so much hurt_ , but it didn’t take long for that anger and pain to morph. It didn’t take long for Tony to accept the simple fact that there were _three_ victims that December night. It wasn’t Bucky Barnes who killed Tony’s parents, it wasn’t even the Winter Soldier.

It was _Hydra_ and once that reality solidified deep within Tony, sitting heavy and cold in his chest, only then did he crawl out of his workshop, unshowered and half-drunk and pathetic, but infinitely _resolute_. He didn’t know what Steve and the others expected, he didn’t want to know if they expected the worst out of him, but they certainly weren’t expecting for Tony throw his unmitigated support behind finding the Winter Soldier and bringing him home.

With Tony’s active help, that mission didn’t take long, and just as Tony predicted, it wasn’t hard to forgive the man whose first words to him were an honest _I’m so sorry_.

Tony just didn’t realize how easy it would be to _love_ this man too.

In the here and now, however, Bucky was still standing before him like he was waiting for an execution, which meant Tony needed to rein in his unruly brain and focus on the issue at hand. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, Snowflake,” Tony said, offering a smile to go with the words, “it’s just a sweatshirt.”

Bucky shook his head though. “Obviously not. You need it to, uh—” he hesitated, “after the water. It helps, doesn’t it? With the nightmares?”

Tony’s fingers flexed against the material. “It does, yeah. Had it since college, you know? Nicked it from Rhodey, actually, poor man got to wear it _once_ , but his own fault for buying something so comfy.” His eyes darted away. “I know it’s probably silly—”

“It’s not,” Bucky’s soft voice interrupted. “I’m really glad you have something that helps.”

The words were sweet, encouraging, but Tony couldn’t help but go back to Bucky’s confession from a minute ago. He eyed the man in contemplation. “But it helped you too, huh? Because, it, uh— smells like me?”

It was cute, honestly, the way Bucky bit his lip and tried to look anywhere but at Tony. The way the tips of his ears flared up pink was pretty adorable too. So much for master assassin stoicism. Something warm and hopeful began to unfurl inside Tony; it blossomed to life as he watched the super soldier fumble for words.

“It was nice, uh— _familiar_. Because, uh—” Bucky shook his head then and let out a laugh. “Jesus, I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?” He did look at Tony then, eyes resolute, _piercing_ almost, and Tony would be a terrible liar if he said that the icy blue gaze didn’t do all sorts of wonderful things to him. “You took me in, you forgave me, treated me no different even when I was a mess. You helped me _so much_ and… even when my damn brain is stuck in a nightmare, it know that you… Tony, you make me feel safe like nothing else does.”

Now _that_ confession was definitely doing things to Tony, things like causing him to not breathe for the fear of missing even a moment of this; his heart hammered away in his chest because _jesus christ_ , when was the last time someone just came out and said something like that to him?

Tony would blame his own addled brain for what happened next, the brain that apparently made _the best_ decisions when in a fifty-foot radius of a blushing, flustered Bucky Barnes.

Tony took a step closer, putting himself within touching distance, so close in fact that the sweatshirt in his hands was now pressed up against Bucky’s ribs and he looked up into searching blue eyes.

“Bringing you home was one of the best things I’ve done in a long time. I know having you here has been life-changing for Steve, but uh… it changed a lot for me too. For the better.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked and the word was a breathless sort of exhale. Maybe Bucky was holding his breath too.

“Yeah. I like getting to know you— whoever that is nowadays, and I like seeing you figure that out too. I like our time together, I like that you make me laugh. You can be sassy and broody and downright scary sometimes, but you’re always _so good_. And umm… I like _you_. I really, really like you, so…” That was all Tony could manage, the confession terrifying enough already, even if it did leave him feeling a little high on adrenaline. His eyes trailed back down to the sweatshirt. “You can have the sweatshirt, if it helps.”

Bucky’s hands came up to cradle Tony’s, squeezing them gently, pushing them and the sweatshirt closer against his chest. Tony couldn’t help but look back up.

“I can’t take it.”

“No?”

“So happens that I really, _really_ like you too… I like seeing you bright-eyed and rested. I want you happy and healthy, Tony, and uh…” he licked his lips and Tony’s eyes followed the motion, mesmerized.

“There something else you want too?” Tony whispered.

“Yeah…” Bucky breathed out again. “Really, really wanna kiss you right now, doll.”

Tony was proud that his knees didn’t outright _buckle_ and he was very, _very_ proud of what he did next. He raised himself up on his tiptoes and after one more hesitant second, just enough give Bucky time to reconsider— he  _didn’t_ — Tony moved closer still and pressed his lips against Bucky’s.

Tony’s first thought was that those lips were just as soft as he dreamed they would be, and his second thought was that kissing Bucky was just plain _wonderful_ , so Tony leaned in closer, let out a soft sigh when Bucky’s metal hand let go to curl around his waist and keep him just where he was. The kiss didn’t deepen though; it remained soft, closed lips moving against each other, slow, exploratory, still hesitant and unsure, but the boldness, the passion, the fire, all of that could come later. Tony was content to savor this first taste just like this, committing to memory the warmth of those lips, the prickle of stubble, the metal hand on the small of his back. An inhale, their lips pulling apart only to press back together, and Tony was suddenly overcome with the familiar cool scent of metal and vanilla, the latter from the shampoo Natasha insisted on giving Bucky. Tony couldn’t complain, not when it made Bucky’s long hair soft and shiny and nearly irresistible to Tony’s curious, wandering hands.

They pulled apart eventually, but Bucky brushed his nose against Tony’s, a simple gesture but one so affectionate that Tony melted inside all over again.

“Oh god,” he breathed, pulling in air that was suddenly in short supply, “I really, really hope this isn’t me hallucinating after staying up for three days.”

Bucky put a bit of distance between them then, although the metal hand remained where it was, and from here Tony could see the complicated thing that was Bucky’s expression, torn between worry and a softness that Tony was certain had to be reflected in his own features.

“S’real, I promise… although now _I’m_ starting to worry,” Bucky furrowed his brows, “because I’ll be real heartbroken if this is just you being loopy on no sleep, Tony.”

“Oh, no, Snowflake, trust me,” Tony said and it was his turn to reach out, to run a shaky but determined hand over the planes of Bucky’s chest, “this, uh— this me liking you thing isn’t exactly new.”

“Oh,” Bucky said and Tony really liked that breathless little sound, would have loved to taste it on his lips again. “Not new for me either.”

Tony tried to look coy, was about to say something flirty and sexy, but instead his treacherous body decided to _yawn_ , a jaw-breaking sort of yawn too, and Tony wanted to all but die from mortification.

But Bucky was smiling, a real smile this time, his pearly whites on display, and the man’s whole _everything_ was radiating affection, a sweet sort of fondness that Tony wanted to keep all to himself.

As if reading his thoughts, Bucky pulled Tony in again, to kiss him just on the corner of his lips. Not nearly enough, but the gesture was so molasses-sweet that Tony couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“Sleep, Tony,” Bucky whispered, “we can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?”

That _yeah_ was hopeful, but still so hesitant that Tony suddenly didn’t want to let Bucky go at all. Tony had to do _something_ to erase that uncertainty, to prove to Bucky that this was exactly what Tony wanted.

“I have a better idea,” Tony said, looking up at the other man conspiratorially. Bucky looked back, dubious, so Tony quickly followed up his declaration with, “since we both need sleep, I feel the best thing to do is to _share_ this very important, sleep-aiding sweatshirt. And there is, uh— there is a perfectly good couch right in that corner over there.”

Bucky looked in the direction of the couch, his gaze lingering, _longing_ , and why did Tony just now start noticing all these things? That longing gaze was on Tony on the next beat, making him flush pleasantly with heat even if the heat didn’t stay given his body’s near-total exhaustion.

“It looks real small. You sure we’ll fit?” Bucky finally asked, to Tony’s internal celebrations.

“Two geniuses like us? I’m sure we can make it work.”

With that, he wrapped a hand around Bucky’s wrist and lead him over, but by the time Tony wriggled his way into the sweatshirt and Bucky was trying to fluff up the old pillow sitting in the corner, a moment of awkwardness settled between them as they glanced at one another.

Here they were, sitting stiffly on the couch, stealing glances. Getting ready to _cuddle_.

Cuddling shouldn’t be so planned, should it? Definitely not something that required so much _thinking_.

So Tony stuck with what he knew best. Instead of planning, he _attacked_ — gently, with infinite care— and pushed Bucky down with playful hands. The man let out a surprised huff, but it was followed with laughter and Bucky wrapped an arm around Tony to drag him down too.

They did make the couch work, _sort of_. Bucky was right, it was on the small side, especially for both a normal-sized genius _and_ a super soldier with his long legs and those damn broad shoulders (all of which Tony appreciated immensely nevertheless). But Tony managed to wedge himself between the couch and Bucky, more of him resting on top of the super soldier than on the couch itself. There was a tangle of legs, arms awkwardly positioned and re-positioned to their liking; Tony snickered when he jabbed an elbow into Bucky’s side and Bucky grumbled when Tony had to reconfigure them _again_ to get more comfortable and the awkwardness bled away bit by bit until there was nothing left but the two of them wrapped around each there.

Which was really _nice_ , Tony decided when he was finally situated, nearly cocooned in the familiar comfort of his sweatshirt _and_ pressed against Bucky in all the best ways. His head was pillowed in the crook of Bucky’s arm, positioned close enough so that Bucky could lean in and bury his face in Tony’s hair.

The overhead lights had been dimmed, courtesy of JARVIS, and the atmosphere around them now was cozy and warm and  _safe_.

Tony hadn’t felt this safe in years and his body was finally, _finally_ letting go of the anxiety. His mind was slowing down too, no more runaway tangents, no more odd and badly timed trains of thought. Sleep was calling to him, but Tony couldn’t let it take him just yet.

He ran his free hand over Bucky’s chest as he snuggled in a little closer.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“More than okay,” Bucky replied, his own voice just as soft.

Tony smiled. “I really, really liked kissing you, by the way, so don’t take my inevitable passing out in— eh, I’d say the next two minutes— as a lack of interest. I’m very interested— _will be_ very interested as soon as I get some rest. Feel free to kiss me tomorrow, especially if I panic a little when I wake up. Because I might. But only because I, uh— don’t usually get what I want, you know?”

Bucky angled his face, brushed his nose against Tony’s curls first, and then there were lips pressed against the crown of Tony’s head; that was all sorts of sweet and amazing too.

“I know. M’not used to having something like this either. I sure liked kissing you too though… but I’m real rusty at this, so you’ll have to be patient with me, okay?”

“We’ll take all the time we need, I promise.”

“We should probably start by getting some sleep.”

Tony huffed, but he couldn’t exactly argue. Already his eyes were closed, lids heavy as lead. Everything was heavy, actually, the exhaustion finally seeping into his limbs and weighting him down, down, _down_.

Tony struggled against it one last time. “You gonna get some sleep too?”

Bucky took a deep breath, his face still pressed against Tony’s head, and Tony wondered what it was that Bucky found so soothing about him because Tony probably just smelled like motor oil and day-old coffee.

He took a deep breath himself. With Bucky of course, it was always those sweet hints of vanilla.

“I’ll try, but even laying here is real nice.”

“You gonna be here when I wake up?”

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else, sweetheart.”

Tony rubbed his face against the soft material of Bucky’s shirt, curled in closer, and let his mind drift deeper into sleep.

“Gonna hold you to it.”

“And I’ll just hold _you_.” Again that press of lips, the arm around Tony tightening, flesh fingers flexing against his hip. “Sleep, Tony.”

And who was Tony to argue? He had Rhodey’s sweatshirt back _and_ a super soldier to snuggle. For the first time in days, his mind let go of the fear and surrounded by safety and warmth, filled to the brim with _hope_ for the days ahead, Tony finally let himself sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi to me on [tumblr](https://ali-aliska.tumblr.com).


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